


Between Then and Now, Life Happened

by mollrach13



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollrach13/pseuds/mollrach13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lancelot’s death broke something in Merlin, but after finding solace and love in Gwaine’s arms he begins to heal. What happens when the inconceivable happens? Who will he chose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Then and Now, Life Happened

**Author's Note:**

> written for the merlin_reversebb for babykidz528 lovely art. Unfortunately I completely failed on my promise of smut for her, it came out much more fluffy and h/c than expected but I hope she, and all of you, enjoy this. It was a tumultuous ride and at times I wanted to throw the whole fic out and start again but special thanks go to my betas B and H for listening to me grumble and reassuring me that yes, it was legible and understandable and for reading all the drafts and thousands of words that I decided to bin even. Any leftover mistakes are my own (I tended to go back and add things after they were beta’d :S )
> 
> edit 08.56 GMT - apologies to anyone who read this in the last half hour, AO3 cut out everything after the first part due to some bad formatting on my end.

The castle was silent as Gwaine’s footsteps echoed up the short curved stairs, his way illuminated by the few torches sat permanently blazing in the corridor of the knight’s chambers. His muscles ached and his eyes stung from the late hour but his night shift was over and he was free to retire for the evening. Raising one weary hand Gwaine rubbed at his stiff neck and with the other gently pushed the chamber door open.

The fire still crackled in the small grate, a few candles scattered here and there by the desk and the bed illuminated the space, even if those signs of life were absent there was no missing the silent still figure stood by the open window.

His back was to the room, long pale hands resting neatly on the window ledge as he leant forwards towards the brisk night air, its breeze rustling the opulent red drapes around the window opening.

Gwaine let the door fall shut gently behind him. “Merlin.”

The figure turned his head revealing a tired but welcoming smile and blue eyes, dull with lack of sleep. “You’re finished early.”

Gwaine shrugged off his sword belt, leaving it carelessly on the table before joining his lover by the window, pressing them back to chest and peering over the man’s strong shoulder to the dark world below. They stayed in silence for a few perfect moments, just soaking in the feel of each other after a long day of absence. 

Gwaine revealed in the warmth of Merlin’s body leaching into the links of his chain mail along his chest, the tight muscles of the servant’s stomach beneath his calloused fingers and the hypnotising feel of the rise and fall of Merlin’s body, drawing in air and expelling it; an extremely normal and benign act but as all things, but from this man entirely compelling.

But Gwaine could feel the tenseness in the man’s shoulders, the tired slump of his strong form and he gripped at the man’s waist all that tighter, bringing his chilled nose into the man’s long pale neck, bare without its standard garb and taking a deep, long breath.

“I’m worried about you,” he mumbled into the warm skin.

“Me?” Merlin chuckled turning his head so Gwaine caught a flicker of blue and the corner of an upturned lip.

“Yes,” Gwaine murmured. “You feel tense, pulled taught... and you’re still up when I know for a fact the princes has been running you ragged all day.”

Gwaine felt Merlin’s body heave with a sigh beneath his embrace and stare back out into the darkening night. “It’s just... a feeling.”

“Ah,” Gwaine sighed, the beginnings of a fond smile appearing on his lips, “one of those.”

“Something’s coming, something not good.”

Gwaine fought against the tension his body began to feel; that tone, that voice, the heavy weight on deceiving shoulder’s was never a good sign. It signalled wars, deaths, betrayals. But there was nothing either of them could do about it at this hour, when both were tired and weary from the days passed. Gwaine knew what his job was now so he shrugged and nuzzled gently into Merlin’s exposed neck pressing kisses to its silky surface. 

“That’s a shame,” he murmured between kisses, purposefully pressing his hips forward to the soft swell of his Merlin’s behind. “I was hoping for some sleep.”

He felt a small swell of relief and fondness when Merlin chuckled beneath him and turned his head capturing Gwaine’s exploring lips in a lingering kiss. When they pulled back Merlin’ s eyes had lost some of their darkness and sparkled beautifully in the night’s light. “I think we have some time.”

Gwaine smiled, pulling Merlin’s body around to easily fit into his. “Thank the gods.”

Their lips danced together in a slow meander as their feet instinctively shuffled backwards to Gwaine’s bed. Once they reached its opulent sheets their bodies fell into it as one, the soft mattress melding to their entwined bodies, used to their shared weight after all of these shared nights. 

When the need for breath reached its peak Gwaine pulled back from the servants plush lips, just enough to stare into the blue eyes of his love. He raised a hand, tenderly and reverently, to brush against Merlin’s cheeks. He brushed against the pale skin, its stretched gauntness still visible beneath the excited flush of his cheeks. He traced a soft finger under the dark bruises hanging beneath each gorgeous eye.

“You are so serious all the time,” he murmured into the space between them, far wider than the scant measures of air between their faces. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered, closing his eyes against the gentle caress of Gwaine’s fingers.

“No, that’s-“ Gwaine sighed, shaking his head against the words wanting to spill from his mouth; questions he knew he would never get straight answers to, questions that would be evaded and twisted and avoided until there was nothing but grey fog between them both. And that wasn’t what Gwaine wanted tonight. So instead he took a breath and pulled Merlin closer, his calloused hand slipping under the servants threadbare tunic, stoking along the strong flank beneath them. 

“How about I find a way to ease both of our worries? Just for the night.”

Beneath him he felt Merlin’s body relax, he saw his small smile upturn his frowning face and revelled in the nimble fingers now running through his hair. 

Merlin looked up at him, the affection in his face unmasked. “I told you once not to fall in love with me.”

Gwaine chuckled ruefully; leaning into Merlin’s caressing hand. “You know I never listen to orders I don’t like.”

That night they both did away with their worries and fears for the night, soaking in the feel of each other turning an ignorant back to the darkness creeping silently outside the window.

-**-

Then…

It shouldn’t have happened, Gwaine had fought against it with all his might, but one day there is just one tankard too many, one sad look too many and Gwaine leaned across the space between them as they sat watching the stars. Merlin had just blinked no emotion on his pale face and allowed Gwaine the pleasure of his lips. 

Their lips moved drunkenly tighter for a moment before Merlin pulled back, a broken sigh on his lips. Gwaine didn’t offer any apology, or words and Merlin leaned forward, his heavy head resting against Gwaine forehead. 

“Percival keeps telling me it will get better,” the servant breathed into the space between them, his stagnant breath blowing across Gwaine face and clouding in the cool air. Gwaine didn’t speak; he could offer no advice or anecdotes. So he took a breath and placed a warm hand to the side of Merlin’s neck. 

Merlin leaned into the warmth of a touch, his lips brushing the tender skin at Gwaine pulse, his face scrunched as if in tremendous pain. “When?” he asked forlornly. 

But Gwaine could offer nothing but his presence and his body and he would allow Merlin to use either for any purpose for as long as was needed. 

-**-

Now…

When Gwaine awoke, with the softly tempered light from the curtained window warming his face, it was alone. Which wasn’t a shock or unexpected but, all the same, he cast a forlorn look at the dent in the pillows beside him. The sheets were long cool since his bed mates departure, up with the sun to see to his master. 

So Gwaine breathed in a deep breath of their combined scent, still lingering from their activities the night before and hauled his own body out of bed. Not a moment after his fresh tunic was pulled over his head was there a scurrying servant at his door. 

“The King has called his council,” the young boy hollered before moving on to the next door and another barely awake knight of the realm. 

So dutifully, but not without a huff of annoyance, Gwaine donned his chainmail, his scarlet cloak, his sword belt, grabbed an apple from the bowl on his table and swept into the corridor. 

The corridors were busy at this time of day, servants and nobles alike prowling the white stone walkways. Soon Gwaine saw the hulking figure of Percival up ahead, weaving his own path to the council chambers. 

Gwaine crept up behind him, tugging the knight’s cloak in greeting. 

“You know what’s going on?” Percival mumbled, still rubbing the sleep sands from his eyes. 

Gwaine observed the grand staircase with alert eyes, their awareness bellying his rumpled state, as the servants and squires scurried past them hurriedly an air of urgency behind their normal pace. It was always the servants who knew of any happenings first, they were the messengers, the handlers and ears of the castle and if they were harried…

But Elyan’s voice popping up by to his side expressed his thoughts before he had even thought them, shaking his head at the large contingent of knights all heading to the council chambers. “Something not good.”

The council chambers were filled to bursting with the highest ranks of Camelot’s knights, all dressed brightly in their standard cloaks of red, painting the normally drab stone room with colour too bright for the early morn. Gwaine peered over the heads of the metal clad men, hoping for just one glance of the king’s servant but there was no king in sight yet and… Merlin wouldn’t be here until then. 

He turned then back to his closest brothers in arms all of them wearing various faces of worry, anxiousness and flickers of fear. And that just wouldn’t do, so Gwaine struck up his best roguish grin and nudged, not gently, at Elyan’s arm. “I wager the first round at the Sun that it’s ‘reports of a creature’.”

Elyan lost some of his worry and grinned back, shaking his head. “’Advancing army’.”

“I’ll raise you to your gold purse it’s ‘Mysterious, unexplained incidents’,” Percival countered. 

“You always say that!”

“And I just might be right this time.”

“Well,” Elyan murmured nodding to the corner of the room as the great doors opened and their esteemed King drifted through, “we’ll soon see.”

The quivering crowd silenced and stilled at the mere presence of their King, his regal shoulders set back and strong and proud under his cape of Camelot red. 

“Men,” King Arthur called to the stilled room. “I’ve called you together this morning as we have received reports from several nearby villages and the second patrol this morning of some highly irregular and unexplained incidents in the Darkling Woods.”

Then the seas of red parted just briefly and Gwaine saw the face he had been searching for. Merlin stood stiffly behind Arthur to his right, hands tucked behind his back. He lifted his gaze just fleetingly to meet Gwaine through the crowds. 

“Dammit,” Gwaine swore under his breath. He wasn’t sure whether it was at the loss of his bet or at the hard, dark look in Merlin’s eyes, all evidence of his work last night gone.

-**-

Then…

Sometimes… sometimes Merlin would disappear. 

Sometimes it was in plain sight, his mind floating off out into the wilds of the world. But sometimes it far more literal.

Arthur would bellow and holler through the corridors of the castle, would terrorise the servants in search of his own and finally, always the last stop, would appear flustered and embarrassed at Gwaine’s chambers asking if Merlin were there. 

Gwaine would grin and take pleasure in the uncomfortable fluster of his sovereign and would then have to admit he didn’t know where Merlin was. Arthur would huff away and Gwaine would lean back against his closed chamber doors a worried frown between his eyebrows and his nails bit down to the quick.

But Merlin would return, sometimes quickly, sometimes waiting until the worry was beginning to gnaw a hole in Gwaine stomach, but he came back.

Gwaine never asked where he had been. Because he didn’t know which would hurt more, the knowledge of what Merlin was doing or Merlin lying to him, again. So he kept silent and ignored the black bruises and new scars. 

And if he held Merlin a slight closer and kissed him a touch harder, there was no one to know but Merlin. 

-**-

Now…

The patrol to the Darkling Woods left as soon as the horses were packed, servants and squires rushing to and fro, preparing their knights and masters for the journey. Gwaine managed to share a fleeting smile with Merlin across the bustling courtyard before they were off. 

Gwaine had been placed in charge of a small band of fledgling knights all talented swordsmen and impressive enough to pass the firsts test, but still untried, untested and nervous. Gwaine’s particular brand of humour managed to bolster their spirits along the long but boring journey through Camelot’s lands to the edges of the realm. Gwaine kept one sparkling eye on his charges and one pointed ahead, fixed to the back of the raven head of hair keeping pace beside the King up front. 

When night began to fall and Arthur called a halt to the procession, once the fires were lit and the tents were pitched and Gwaine’s boys each had a tankard in hand, Gwaine peered out across the clearing where they had settled. 

He watched as Merlin mumbled quietly to the king, who nodded distractedly and the servant disappeared into the treeline. Gwaine didn’t give it one second of hesitation before he followed. 

The wandering servant was found in a small clearing not too far from the camp with a small bundle of twigs in hand. Gwaine knew Merlin had noticed his arrival, just as he knew that he wouldn’t acknowledge it until Gwaine did. So Gwaine allowed himself a few moments to just watch as the man bent to and from the earth, enlarging the mount of sticks in his arms. 

When he had taken his fill Gwaine stepped forward, purposefully letting his feet crunch in the dry forest floor. “Fancy seeing you here,” Gwaine said, a teasing grin curling at his mouth when Merlin looked up from his crouch. He grinned, straightening and adding another stick to his burden. 

“A surprise I am sure,” he retorted. Gwaine smiled and crouched down as well picking a small stick rom the ground not really paying attention to whether it was good burning wood or not, it didn’t really matter. He stepped forward into the Merlin’s space, reverently placing the wood to Merlin’s growing bundle. 

“Aren’t you a gentleman,” Merlin mused giving Gwaine a look under his eyelashes that made Gwaine simultaneously hot and shiver, seeing nothing but blue and skin and heat before him. 

He lived for these moments, when they were just Merlin and Gwaine, man and man, without the titles and stigma and trials of their real lives and positions. 

“Perhaps,” Gwaine mused circling around Merlin’s frame, “or maybe I just wanted an excuse to do this,” Gwaine pressed a chaste kiss to Merlin’s cheek and leant back to whisper in the man’s ear, “without half Arthur’s army watching.”

“You know, you’re not subtle,” Merlin smiled, leaning into the warmth of Gwaine’s body, “half Arthur’s army know exactly what you are doing out here.”

Gwaine shrugged. “Collecting firewood.”

“Alright,” Merlin snorted. “I’ll let you keep thinking that.” 

“See the army are wrong,” Gwaine exclaimed and let Merlin move away from him, continuing with his task. “It was that wit I came here questing for, that razor shape tongue of yours with oh so many talents.”

“Shush,” Merlin scolded, but Gwaine wasn’t fooled, he could see the amused smile to the servants lips.

“Don’t shush me whilst I am complimenting you.” Gwaine smiled and leant easily against the trunk of a nearby tree letting his assessing gaze sweep over his lovers form. “Now the ears-“

“No, Gwaine shh,” Merlin said, frowning at the treeline. “Can you hear that?”

Immediately Gwaine stopped and listened. Arthur may have mocked Merlin’s ‘feelings’ but Gwaine had made a life by listening to the man’s warnings; it usually helped with staying alive. So he perked his ears and sharpened his eyes against the dimming light of the day, scanning the treelines around them. 

Then he heard it. The sound of something large and... very large moving in the trees just ahead of where Merlin was standing staring intently into the foliage. And then, something that was unmistakably a growl.

“Merlin,” Gwaine murmured, creeping slowly towards the stationary servant. “Merlin, get back.”

The servant turned, his sharp eyes flicking towards Gwaine and at that moment, from the trees, it pounced. 

Perhaps it was years of living on the road, living on his toes, perhaps it the his past few years of daily training with Arthur, undoubtedly one of the best fighters he had ever met, or maybe it was the inexplicable stab of burning sharp fear that shot through his body at the sight of large sharp claws heading right for Merlin’s chest that spurred him into moving faster than he ever had in his life. 

Gwaine sprung forward latching a rough hand onto Merlin’s arm and tugged. Merlin sprawled back, his back hitting Gwaine and the pair falling to an undignified heap on the forest floor. And before them, pawing exactly where Merlin had stood just a moment ago was the fiercest creature Gwaine had ever set eyes on.

Resembling a large cat the creature was as large as a horse, its paws as large as shields and extending from each one were three sharp and shining claws, currently clenching into the soft forest floor. It growled again, snapping Gwaine’s gaze to its snarling mouth and the rows and rows of sharp teeth aligning its mouth. 

It shuffled in it space, beady black eyes fixed on the pair on the ground before it and slowly bent it’s forelegs. Gwaine realised quickly what it was planning to do and griped Merlin’s arm all the harder. 

“Merlin,” he whispered to the man sprawled across his legs. “Run!”

The pair scrabbled up from the floor. Merlin seemed on board with the plan as they both shot to standing and pushed their legs to running. They ran blindly, hands grasped together lest they lose the other in the now dark woods, tripping and stumbling through the trees, always with the rampaging sound of large paws following quickly in their wake. 

Gwaine had no earthy idea where they were running, whether they were even going in a straight line. All he saw was dark outlines of trees, all he could feel was the cool wind whipping past his face and Merlin’s large had gripped tightly in his own and all he could hear over his and Merlin’s panting and their unsubtle careen through the trees was the hot heavy pants of a creature much larger than its prey. 

“Woah, Gwaine stop!” Merlin called from just behind him. Instinctively Gwaine halted his feet, skidding slightly on the loose gravel beneath his feet and looked up, and up and cursed.

Before them, running as far as he could see in either direction, was a wall of stone. They had run right smack into the middle of the Gorge. Gwaine frantically looked back and forth along the treeline looking for an exit and cursed again. 

His heart was beating fast, his skin hot and clammy, his breath coming in spurts. Gwaine turned helplessly to the trees. He could hear the creature’s bounding steps coming forward, closer and closer and they had nowhere to go.

“Merlin,” Gwaine said frantically, not taking his eyes from the dark shadows in the foliage up ahead. “Run east along the rock face. In a few miles there will be a path to the other side. I’ll distract it long enough-“

“Don’t be an idiot Gwaine!” Merlin hissed coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with the weapon-less knight. Gwaine cursed himself for not even thinking of collecting his sword. Arthur would chew him out for that… if they ever had a hope of surviving. 

“No, Merlin you have to-“

But then they were out of time. The trees ahead erupted and the oversized cat pounced into existence before them. Merlin’s hand gripped at Gwaine forearm harshly, his fingertips digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise. 

The creature snarled its pointed teeth and steely gaze directed right at Merlin, the meal that got away. Weapon-less be dammed, Gwaine jumped in front of Merlin’s skinny unarmoured body. The knight braced himself ready to die, be mauled and killed to protect the man he loved. The creature pounced, its deadly claws drawn and heading straight for Gwaine’s heart. His eyes screwed shut instinctively, his last thoughts focused on Merlin, hoping the man had enough sense to just run back to camp, back to the safety of the other knights and Arthur. He sent out his fervent prayer and…

And then… he wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. One minute his built in, powerless need to protect Merlin at all costs was whizzing through his brain, he had selflessly thrown himself between his love and the approaching deadly creature and then…

Well, then there was light, a wash of golden light, and the pain he expected to feel in his chest from sharpened claws slicing through his skin wasn’t there. Instead he flew, harsh and hard through the air, his body landing with a crash and crunch against the unforgiving rock face. The impact of his head against the stone sent fissures of pain through his skull and down his neck washing the world in white. 

His body called for rest, salvation from the pain but… Merlin… Cat… Gwaine forced open his watering and unfocused eyes, the world tilting and shivering around him.

The creature had advanced, no human barrier now between it and its prey, backing Merlin further up until his back was pressed against the rough stone right besides Gwaine. And Gwaine could only watch. 

He was going to be stuck here, laying sprawled on the floor, and would have to watch as Merlin was clawed, eaten, killed, mauled and he was powerless to stop it. A helpless whimper, a choked of murmur of Merlin’s name was all he could manage. 

“It will be alright Gwaine, trust me.” 

The voice was a whisper floating on the air, almost as if it had been spoken directly into Gwaine’s throbbing head. Gwaine looked up to see Merlin looking down on him offering a small smile, no worry or fear there, and the servant raised his hand out to the creature.

Gwaine could feel the blackness encroaching on him but he wouldn’t leave Merlin alone, if the least he could offer was witness to a heroic end then he would, no matter how his heart would break. 

Then the creature hissed, and bent his legs and then…

What happened next was so bizarre Gwaine was sure he had already succumbed to his head injury, but there was a blast of pure energy, and the creature was thrown backwards, its mass landing hard of the unforgiving stone floor. The crunch of bones and the snapping sound indicated it was unlikely the creature would be moving again. 

His heart beating in his throat and blackness encroaching on his vision, Gwaine blinked blearily up to see Merlin, standing proud and strong, arm outstretched out as if it were a sharpened sword on the arm of the highest trained knight. 

Just before Gwaine slipped into unconsciousness Merlin looked down, and all Gwaine saw were eyes, swirling with the brightest gold he had ever seen.

And then there was only black.

-**-

Then…

The tavern crowd were in extra boisterous spirits that night as the knights toasted yet another new recruit to Arthur’s prestigious knights. The young Gerwaint finally dropped from his energetic dancing around the tables, pulling the beautiful Rose downwards with him, into his lap. 

Gwaine smiled as he watched the happy, carefree grin on the young knight’s face, his spirits and mood lifted with the relief that all those weeks of training were accomplished and in the end what he had to show for it was the shiny new cloak now adorning his back. 

Over time it would receive its scars; tears, mud, blood, dirt. But for now it was clean and new and something the young man could be proud of. All the gathering knights loved nights such as these, where they could remember what it felt like when they had first received the honour of the king’s trust, so they crowded around the new knight like moths to a flame all desperate to soak up just a flicker of the man’s light. 

Glancing a bit to the right, it was like a stark reversal. 

Merlin stood off to the side, close enough to be seen as with the knights but far enough away to not get involved with the next round of ale. He stood leaning against the slim wooden post propping up the tavern roof, sipping the same pint he had reluctantly taken when they all entered the tavern hours ago. 

The man’s solemn blue gaze was directed at the new knight, a small sad smile tipping at his full lips. 

Gwaine picked up his own tankard, still half full, and gingerly squeezed his way out from the crowd, pausing to cheer at each boisterous toast. 

But finally he escaped the throngs, off to the edges were Merlin’s form was hunched. 

“Hey,” Gwaine murmured when he was in hearing distance. Merlin looked up, his gaze guarded and weary. Gwaine should have expected that, their interactions had been somewhat awkward in the past few weeks. 

“Hey,” Merlin murmured in response, his gaze flicking nervously between the crowds and Gwaine’s advancing bulk. 

Everything about the man screamed ‘please go away’ so Gwaine forced his nervous body into some semblance of casual and took up a perch against the edge of a table. “You not having a good time?”

“Yeah,” Merlin shrugged looking down into his tankard. “Just tired I think.”

“Go home,” Gwaine assured nodding back at the howling hoard. “They won’t mind. I’m sure most of them will be by your chambers tomorrow for some miracle tonic.”

A small amused smile twitched at Merlin’s lips then and Gwaine’s heart leapt with triumph. “If you want,” the knight continued, “I could go with you. I’m pretty exhausted myself.”

Gwaine immediately chastised himself then at the frown that pulled between Merlin’s brows. “I… I don’t think that is a good idea,” the servant shook his head, staring down at his fingers fiddling with his now empty cup. 

“Why?”

Merlin huffed, annoyed but at least he finally lifted his eyes to Gwaine’s, even if they were narrowed in annoyance. “You know why Gwaine.”

“I’m sorry Merlin,” Gwaine spoke softly pushing himself to stand. “But… he’s been gone for a while now. Wouldn’t he want you to be happy?”

“He’s not,” Merlin began before shaking his head. “That’s not the only reason.”

Gwaine took a step forward, just one step taking him the relatively small distance forward until his chest brushed gently against Merlin’s arm. But it was more than that, it was a step taking him closer to the precarious ledge hovering before him, the one he had been wanting, waiting to jump off for some time now, ever since he first learnt what a pleasure it was to feel those full lips against this own. 

“Tell me the reason Merlin,” he whispered into the servant’s ear. The entire tavern, the noise, the bustle, the smells, had all faded away until there was only them.

Merlin shivered, Gwaine feeling the tremors through his chest. “I… I can’t-“

“You have secrets,” Gwaine stated. It wasn’t exactly a revelation, anyone who watched the servant as much as Gwaine did knew of the invisible weight carried on those shoulders, the burden that Merlin dragged with him and the barrier that seemed to be between them both right now.

Merlin brought his eyes up, boring straight into Gwaine. “Yes.”

“Me too,” Gwaine shrugged.

“Really?

“Yes.”

Merlin coked his head to the side, observing Gwaine quietly. “What are they?”

“Oh Merlin,” Gwaine chuckled. He leant forward, bringing his forearm to rest on the post above Merlin’s head and angling their bodies together. “They wouldn’t really be secrets if I told you would they?”

Merlin smiled ruefully, shaking his head at the Knight. “No I suppose not.”

They just waited like that for a moment, their relationship based on a lot of silences from both parties so it made sense to soak them in every now and then. Gwaine watched the haunted light lift lightly form Merlin’s eyes and felt the tense body let go a little against his own. 

“So we agree,” he murmured, practically whispering in Merlin’s ear. “You have your secrets and I have mine. And… we’ll tell each other when we are ready.”

Merlin huffed and let his head fall forward, their foreheads resting together between the two. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

Gwaine smiled and allowed himself just one small touch, bringing his hand to brush gently at the beginnings of a smile curling at Merlin’s lips, the lips that had been too sad and too serious recently, beginning to gain their strength back. 

“I really don’t think that is true Merlin.”

-**-

Now…

The fire crackled between them, over the chasm of space between them. Merlin at on one side, eyes firmly fixed to the flickering flames and Gwaine sat gingerly on the other, a compress pressed carefully to the growing lump in his hair. 

“Lancelot knew,” Gwaine spoke eventually. It wasn’t a question, it didn’t need to be. Finally everything and much more was beginning to make sense.

Merlin flinched as Gwaine had expected, as he did whenever the dead knights name was spoken, the shadow of that long ago grief still lingering always in his heart. He didn’t look up.

“He did.”

Gwaine nodded in confirmation, of the confirmation he did not need. “How did he find out?”

Merlin let out a laugh. It wasn’t amused, nor happy. It sounded painful and full of sorrow and Gwaine flinched at the sound of it. But then the servant bit his lip, holding it inside and shook his head. “Does it matter?”

Gwaine looked up to find Merlin blue eyes staring at him over the fire, their depths shadowed in a film of tears forbidden to fall. He took in Merlin’s anguished face and read the flickers of resignation in the quirk of his mouth. He read the stiff hold on Merlin’s crouch that meant he had injured himself in some way, most probably a highly bruised shoulder or back. He saw the flighty twitch to his lovers hand and the way that he gripped them both together trying to subdue his desire to flee. And the hold of his head, the way it was angled to the side, able to carefully conceal any burgeoning emotions that may pass across it. Gwaine doubted anyone else would be able to read this from one body, one man, without words, but none were as proficient in trying to determine what one man was thinking without words. 

“No,” Gwaine sighed eventually. “No, I guess not.”

The still drifted on by them, silence hanging between the two men. 

When morning came, Gwaine woke curled before the doused camp fire. His heart lurched for a moment at the empty perch on the opposite side until a rustling behind him caused him to turn. Merlin appeared through the trees, a full water skin in hand. 

When he saw Gwaine awake Merlin stopped, like a rabbit on a trail, his eyes wide and nervous staring at the big bad knight lying prone of the forest floor. Once the silence had reached its tipping point Merlin blinked first, ducking his head down and picking his discarded jacket from the ground.

“Come on,” Merlin called. “We need to get back to the camp before Arthur starts wondering where I am.”

Gwaine pushed himself gingerly to sitting, squinting his eyes against the dull throbbing in his skull. “You realise he starts hollering for you as soon as your back is turned.”

“Idiot probably can’t find his socks,” Merlin chuckled, but it was forced, brittle. Gwaine looked up into Merlin’s eyes staring at him wide and pleading. 

So Gwaine nodded carefully, wincing at the sharp pain in his skull, and stood. He brushed the dry leaves from his breeches and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s temple. He felt Merlin relax against him and they mounted their horses and rode back to Camelot and did not bring it up again.

-**-

Then…

The Isle of Blessed was the creepiest place Gwaine had ever been. For all that appeared empty the screams of the Dorocha echoed through the dark night, chilling each knight down to the core.

But when Gwaine woke, aching and cold on the rough stone floor, it was to the sound of nothing, as if he had fallen in a storm and woke at its break. Gingerly he stretched each limb, trying to categorise all his aches and pains into ‘ouch’ and ‘death sentence’ and piecing the last remnants of his memory together. 

When he finally did his body sat bolt upright, no thought to the bruised ribs he was sporting, and frantically cast his eyes about... The Dorocha, the tear in the air, the winds and the screams… but his senses weren’t playing tricks on him, his ears hadn’t malfunctioned. It was now quiet. The night air around him was chilled, slightly damp but still.

Breath hitching Gwaine pushed himself to his feet. He took in the scene as one. The absence of the tear beside the altar, the Kings sprawled out form laying a few feet away breathing deeply in his unconscious state and then a crouched figure, kneeling in the centre of all this… still.

“Merlin?” Gwaine called quietly into the silence. The slim shoulders before him stiffened and the back straightened but the servant’s head did not turn. 

Gwaine’s feet shuffled forward, a loud noise in the tense hush of the cavern, his uneven gate echoing across the bare walls. When he was in reach Gwaine reached out a hand, black and dirty from the days traveling, trembling from the sense of trepidation he felt brewing all around, and gripped it to the sure weight of Merlin’s shoulder. 

“Merlin, mate,” Gwaine began, levering himself down to the raven man’s level. He opened his mouth to say more, to ask more but then Merlin turned his head. 

Great rivers of silent tears poured down each cheek, casting from large blue eyes drowning in heartache. Gwaine’s hand tightened reflexively on Merlin’s shoulder, his throat worked as he tried to ask, tried to think of what to say next. But, as always, Merlin got there first.

“Lancelot,” Merlin croaked. “Lancelot, he’s gone.”

-**-

Now…

When they finally made it back to the knights, and a spitting Arthur, Gwaine’s head was humming with pain. By the time Arthur had hollered at them both it was throbbing. By the time the party had called their search off and finally made it back to Camelot the pain was lancing through his skull, the velocity of which increased with each bump, each hint of light and each sound. 

And Merlin had been fretting. 

Not noticeably, he only saved that particular indignity for Arthur, but hovering, watching, waiting. 

Gwaine almost cried in relief when the white walls of Camelot appeared in his fairly limited eyesight. Gingerly he dropped from his horse, fully preparing himself for the dizzying spin that was bound to tear through his head at the change in level. He was surprised, to say the least, when two strong, steady hands landed on his waist as soon as his feet hit the ground, steadying his balance and evening his head. 

“Careful,” a deep voice murmured from behind his ear. A deep voice he was well accustomed too. 

“Wouldn’t want to fall on my face would I Merlin?” Gwaine attempted a grin as he slowly loosened his death grip on his horse. 

“Leave that to us professionals,” the servant retorted but it lacked the normal energy. “Come on; let’s get you to a bed.”

Gwaine felt his arm being slowly lifted over a pair of strong shoulders as they both moved away from the safe steady of the horse and across the cobbled courtyard. Gwaine let his eyes fall mostly shut, focused on the ground below to block out any light. 

“Merlin!” a loud voice shouted across the courtyard. Gwaine couldn’t hold in his wince at the volume. “Merlin! My chambers!”

“Arthur I just need to-“

“I mean now Merlin!” Arthur hollered again. Gwaine felt Merlin’s shoulders sag beneath his arm as the sound of angry boots retreated away. 

“Prat,” Merlin mumbled. “Just because he had to find his own firewood for a night.”

Gwaine levered his aching head up to give Merlin a squinted look. “He was worried about you.”

“Well, I’m worried about you. How’s the head?”

“Painful,” Gwaine admitted carefully pulling himself away from Merlin’s strong assistance. “But I’ll live, go on. He’ll only be worse if you make him wait.”

“But you-“

Gwaine cut the servant off when he saw, through peeking eyes, the man stepping forward again. “Look Merlin it’s alright. Come by my chambers tonight.”

Merlin ran an assessing eye up and down Gwaine hunched form, but he was standing on his own which had to give him points surely. “You sure?”

“Yes, yes I’m sure. Come by then and we can talk… or not talk.”

Merlin laughed then, a joyous sound that filled Gwaine’s heart to the brim and overflowed through his chest making it hard to breath, but he couldn’t care overly much when Merlin smiled at him like that, and when he pressed a small secret kiss to the knight’s mouth before he left. 

-**-

Then…

The fire crackled in the hearth, its noise distant amidst the sounds of skin on skin, lips on lips. The sounds continued and rumbled from under the pile of blankets atop the large bed, their bodies hidden save for the twists of hair just visible above the winter covers. 

After the moon had disappeared behind a cloud and after the candles scattered through the room had burnt down the noises dimmed and slowed and stopped. The couple beneath the blankets breathed and stilled their breaths not leaving the cocoon of the bed.

Soon, too soon, Merlin pulled back, the haphazard licks of his hair brushing and tickling against Gwaine’s jaw as he lifted. Gwaine wanted to pull him back down, to where Merlin’s head had tucked in neatly under his chin, his cheeks slotting into Gwaine’ s collar bones like a missing piece. 

Merlin pulled back and looked at him, his face slightly scrunched in obvious distress. His mouth pursed tight with words that obviously wanted to spill out which was an improvement on the desolately silent Merlin of a few months ago, so Gwaine watched, and waited. In the end it was croaked in a broken voice, one that shouldn’t belong to Merlin:

“Don’t fall in love with me Gwaine.” 

Merlin’s eyes were wet, the surfaces shimmering with unshed tears. Something in Gwaine’s chest pulled violently, his hands reaching instinctively for Merlin’s face to cradle it. He opened his mouth to say something but all it seemed to do was uselessly pull in air. 

“Bad things happen to people who love me,” Merlin ended on a croak and a lone tear escaped from his blue eyes. 

The salty bead dripped down from Merlin’s heavy lashes and raced to Gwaine’s thumb where it gathered in the seam of Gwaine hand and Merlin’s face, where their skin met. He could have rubbed it away, leave Merlin’s skin dry and smooth, but this crack, this small peak into Merlin’s soul was too precious to discard. Instead he pulled Merlin down, his face back again where it fitted snug against Gwaine’s chest, and let a scant few droplets seep into his own skin.

Once the moon was high in the sky and the candle had almost burnt out merlin was finally asleep. Gwaine watched in reverence at the dark sweep of his lashes against pale cheeks, at the limp curl of his fingers on Gwaine’s chest. Gwaine felt where Merlin’s chest pressed against his side with every breath.

‘Don’t fall in love with me Gwaine’

Gwaine swallowed back his ruthful sigh that felt more similar to a sob rising up his throat. He took a deep breath and blew out the failing candle. Burying his face in Merlin’s willful locks, he took a deep breath, and welcomed the morning to come.

-**-

Now…

The last week had been tense; partly because the knights were no closer to finding out what the disturbances had been about, but partly… Merlin was spending more time in Gaius’ chambers and even though Gwaine knew the reason for this self-exile, even though he now understood the level to which Camelot seemed to depend on Merlin and his last minute miracles… things were strange between them both, and every time Merlin dithered and mumbled and apologised before he practically fled the knight’s chambers Gwaine could feel Merlin, and all they had built, slipping quickly form his grasp. And that just would not do.

He needed to stabilise them, show Merlin that this knowledge didn’t have to change who they were, together. So he timed it perfectly, leaning pseudo-casually against the stone of the corridor wall, the cool stone pressing nicely against his back, waiting until the door to the kings chambers eased open and Merlin backed his way through, a large laundry basket bundled precariously in his arms. 

“You look so proficient with a laundry basket in hand,” Gwaine spoke, watching the expert wiggle of Merlin’s body as he kicked shut the royal chamber door.

Merlin startled but a relieved grin blossomed on his face as he spotted his accoster lounging against the wall. “Did you just come here to flatter me sir knight?”

“No,” Gwaine mumbled, pushing from his post to keep step with Merlin. “I came to invite you for a meal tonight… with me,” he helpfully tacked on the end, wincing internally. So much for being smooth. 

Merlin quirked an eyebrow. “As loathe as I am to turn down such an eloquent proposition.” Merlin turned to grin at Gwaine. “I’m working tonight.”

“The princess can handle himself for a night,” Gwaine huffed, hopping down the stairs in time with Merlin. “Does he need you to cut his food?”

When they reached the base of the stairs and the door to the laundress Merlin paused and cocked his head thoughtfully. “Sometimes, yes.”

Gwaine paused to savor that wonderful piece of information. By the time he had fully absorbed the joy that little nugget would garner in the months to come Merlin had already reappeared from the laundress sans laundry basket. “You know I worship you for these little tidbits you give me.”

Merlin gave him an evil grin as they walked as one out into the bright sun of the courtyard. “I know.”

“I just want to spend time with you,” Gwaine said, jogging down the stairs to stop before Merlin and halt his progress. “Is that so bad? I’ve hardly seen you since…” Gwaine didn’t need to elaborate since what. And he wasn’t so blasé as to blurt it out before Camelot’s full mid-day courtyard.

Merlin allowed himself to be paused and swallowed. Eventually he snorted and sent Gwaine a thoughtful glance from beneath his eyelashes. “There is a possibility his highness may be dinning with the lovely Queen tonight. If so… I could try and guilt her into giving me a night off.” Merlin shrugged and pushed passed Gwaine finishing his decent down the steps.

“So… is that a yes?” Gwaine grinned hopping down the steps to the courtyard a pace behind Merlin

“It’s a maybe.” Merlin turned at the bottom of the step giving Gwaine a grin of his own, its corners creasing his cheeks to tickle at the corner of his eyes. Gwaine watched the blue in Merlin’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight and had the overly romantic urge to press a kiss to those crinkles in the middle of the square, no mind to the people hovering around. 

He blamed this god awful sentimental feeling, that felt awfully like the long ago forbidden ‘love’, erupt in his chest and Gwaine suddenly had the urge to dip Merlin before the whole courtyard, nobles and all, and just kiss his entire face… Gwaine shook his head from his daze to find that the entire courtyard had gone still and deadly silent, the kind of silence that shivered up his spine and made his hair stand on end. 

Frowning Gwaine took a look around, belatedly wondering if he had given into his hearts desires and ‘disgraced the sanctity of knighthood’ right there in the square. But the crowds weren’t looking at him. They had all turned, faces white and mouths agape in shock, at the figure walking tall and proud through the opening crowds. 

“Oh Gods.” The sound escaped Gwaine’s mouth quite by accident. 

Merlin shot him a frown, as always, oblivious to the normal world around him. Gwaine saw him turning, and wanted to tell him no, tell him to stop, not to look, but it was too late. Gwaine couldn’t quite take his eyes off the figure standing before him, dressed plainly, a small travel pack on one shoulder and his face speckled with scruff and travel dust. But beneath the grime and weariness it was unmistakable.

The figure smiled serenely and gazed at the servant now staring wide eyed at the new comer much like the rest of the castle courtyard. 

“Merlin,” the man spoke smoothly, reverently. 

Gwaine felt Merlin’s gulp though his back as the man opened and closed his mouth a few times. 

“Lancelot”

-**-

Then …

The night of Lancelot’s funeral the round table sat, silent and still, along a long table in a small meal chamber. The servants lined the walls silently, heads bowed as their masters picked at their food half-heartedly.

Perhaps it had been a silly suggestion, to dine together this night, all tired, exhausted and grieving from the days passed. But the all gathered none the less.

Gwen’s eyes were red rimmed and her face drawn, Arthur stoic and pale, Percival quivering in silence, Elyan frustrated, Leon strong and steady. 

Gwaine himself picked at the opulent meal that had been placed before him and allowed his mind to fetter in the constant dumbing buzz that had occupied it through the journey back to Camelot, 

“Where’s Merlin?” Leon asked, bravely breaching the silence.

The King’s eyes snapped up at the mention of his servant before dimming down to his plate, the downturn of his lips and the crease between his eyebrows more pronounced. 

Arthur gripped at Gwen’s hand seeming to draw support and strength from his love. “He declined the invitation, said he had too much to do.”

Gwaine had erred all day on visiting his friend but one thing had led to another and he had decided to allow his friend some space to grieve on his own, collect himself back together. But his absence was felt like a gaping hole in the room.

Leon bowed his head in sorrow, his voice coming out slightly choked. “Yes, I understand. We… we all know how close he was to Lancelot.”

“He shouldn’t be alone with this Arthur,” Gwen whispered, gripping Arthur’s hand more firmly. “You shouldn’t leave him alone. You should have ensured he came.”

“I will not dictate to him how he grieves,” Arthur almost-snapped back before taking a deep breath. “We will leave him for now.”

Gwaine knew, a grieving man was a minefield, not knowing which button to push to stave off explosion. He and Merlin had been good friends, great friends, Gwaine’s first friend. But then knights and women, and the responsibilities of being the Kings trusted knight, coupled with Merlin’s equally hectic schedule, meant that that initial friendship, the one that had brightened Gwaine darkening heart and given him a purpose outside of the tavern, had waned. And by the time Gwaine had paused on the sprinting track he seemed to be on and looked behind him, Merlin was safely and securely tucked into Lancelot’s side, a content air about him. And Gwaine could not – would not – effect that for the world.

But now, that rock that Merlin seemed to lean to, the one that seemed to know just how to make Merlin’s shoulders relax down from his ears was gone. And Merlin was alone. And that just would not do.

-**-

Now…

It didn’t take long for Lancelot to wind up before the council, especially considering what transpired at his last miraculous uprising. The King had looked upon him warily, the Queen noticeably absent from proceedings as he continued to questioning this miraculous doppelganger about his apparent inability to die. 

“I woke by the lake,” Lancelot was continuing, “and then I made my way here. I don’t know what happened on my last visit Arthur but you must know I have no wish to ever hurt you. It would be my greatest fear.”

Lancelot gazed up at the king, such naked pleading in his eyes that even Gwaine was willing to pardon the poor bloke. But Arthur just nodded grimly, nothing showing on his face. “And you remember nothing else?”

Gwaine didn’t miss the quick glance Lancelot sent in Merlin’s direction before he nodded. “On my way back I ran into a few men, clad in colours I had never seen. I dispatched them but reinforcements came as if from nowhere. I had to flee and take shelter in a cave overnight. As I attempted to escape without notice the next day I caught a few men of the same colours coming out of a hidden opening in the rock face. They mentioned Morgana’s name sire.”

“Where was this?”

“The Darkling Woods.”

“Very well,” Arthur murmured, turning from the man sat at his table. “Elyan, watch him… carefully.”

Elyan grit his jaw but nodded, unsheathing his sword at the ready. The whole room hung on tender hooks as their King walked quietly away from the table to the corner of the room, Merlin following silently.

It wasn’t hard for Gwaine to shuffle his feet and angle his head enough to hear Merlin’s low voice whisper through the air.

“It’s him this time.”

“How do you know?” Arthur asked carefully.

Merlin shrugged and crossed his arms across his chest defensively. “I just know it’s him.” The servant watched the Kings stiff form for a moment, noticed his eyes darting back to the previously dead-man now sat at his council table. 

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, stepping closer to the King. “This could be the answer to those reports, the Darkling woods have many places an army could hide, and right on Camelot’s doorstep. And if Morgana is involved…”

“Alright,” Arthur sighed running a hand through his hair and striding back to the table. “Lancelot,” the king spoke strongly. “Would you be able to direct us to the strong hold?”

Lancelot’s eyes flicked from Arthur to Merlin and back again before nodded, strongly and regally. “Yes sire.”

“Very well,” the king nodded in return. “We leave at dawn.”

The chairs of the council scraped and tottered as everyone stood for the Kings departure, whispering and mumbling breaking out amongst the knights. Gwaine didn’t talk, daren’t’ move. He just watched as Lancelot stood slowly from his chair. His path across the room seemed to clear magically, leaving a walkway to the far side of the camber. Gwaine watched; sickness and fear curdling in his gut, helpless once more, as a creature advanced upon Merlin, wanting to take him from Gwaine. 

As before Merlin’s eyes were wide, his chest was heaving, but as the creature lifted a reverent hand and brushed it gently against the strong line of Merlin’s jaw, the line that Gwaine loved. Merlin shivered. 

Gwaine couldn’t watch anymore. He left, not quietly of discretely, but he couldn’t watch anymore. He thought he felt eyes ping to the back of his head as he pushed open the chamber door, thought he heard the echo of a whisper in the back of his mind. But he couldn’t… he needed air

-**-

Then…

It was a cool evening night, that perfect time of year with the air is not to clammy but the chill of winter has long since passed. The scent of flowers filled the air around Camelot on these nights and Gwaine was wandering the castle. If anyone asked he would have confessed to a night stroll to ease his dreams but he knew himself well enough to know that he was searching for a particular companion this fine night.

He found what he was looking for high up on the battlements looking out over the sprawling trees surrounding them. 

Merlin at serenely, his legs swinging carelessly over the edge of the battlements, seemingly oblivious to the multi-level drop waiting just below the clumsy servant’s feet. 

“Should I be worried?” Gwaine asked as he came level with the dare devil servant. But Merlin just breathed, and smiled, his head tipping back to stare up into the pinking skyline. 

“I just wanted some air,” he exhaled into the sky. “It’s a nice night.”

“Yes it is,” Gwaine agreed, cupping his hands around the servant’s waist and hooking his chin over the pointy shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be much nicer with both feet on the ground?”

Merlin chuckled but obeyed, swinging his legs over the stone and swivelling in Gwaine grasp to stand right before the knight, no space at all between their bodies. 

Merlin smiled again, the act itself odd, and pressed his lips against Gwaine’s. It was chaste, just the press of lip on lip. But it was, delicious and enchanting and the first time Merlin had initiated anything between them. So Gwaine held on for dear life and let his heart beat out his chest. 

When their lips parted Merlin did not, his body pressed up against Gwaine languorously, his precious head tucked rightly so by Gwaine’s shoulder. Automatically Gwaine’s hands lifted, cradling the precious body leaning into him and tried not to grip too tight. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just be for a while,” Merlin whispered into slowly dimming sky, “without a disaster befalling us.”

Gwaine shrugged and joined his lover in his gaze out over Camelot’s lands. “At this point I don’t think I would be able to enjoy the quiet, it makes me nervous.”

-**-

Now…

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he heard careful footsteps rounding the battlements to where he was perched. He shouldn’t have been surprised and frowned at himself when he was. 

The footsteps were familiar, warm and comforting once. But now Gwaine wished they would halt, turn around and go because Gwaine really didn’t want to hear the conversation they were about to have right now, he really didn’t.

“Wouldn’t it be safer with both feet on the ground,” Merlin said, his footsteps coming to rest just behind Gwaine. Gwaine didn’t turn. 

“Perhaps,” Gwaine mused staring down at his dangling feet, not even feeling an ounce of the dizzying twirl he would normally. 

He knew he should say more, say something. But he couldn’t. Maybe if he just stayed quiet then they wouldn’t have to talk about it and they could just breath in the night air as they used to just the sounds of Camelot and themselves for company. 

But that wasn’t the reality they lived in any more. “Is it really him?” Gwaine asked eventually when the silence had engulfed him too much.

He heard Merlin’s deep breath behind him. “Yes.”

“How can you tell?”

“He knows of my magic. The last one didn’t because Morgana didn’t know, he was just a puppet for her... this is... this is my Lancelot.”

Just the way he had said the name ‘my Lancelot’… “Right,” Gwaine choked, his head hanging limply on his chest. 

Gwaine heard Merlin’s hitched breath behind him, and his heart clenched. He wanted to turn, to see Merlin’s watery eyes but he knew if he did it would be his undoing so he stayed still, his eyes closed against the barrage building up behind them. 

“Are-“ Merlin choked, “are you going to bed?”

“Will you be there?”

Gwaine felt the weight of Merlin’s forehead coming to rest between the knights shoulder blades. His tunic was probably sweaty from the day, from patrol and the heat from under his chainmail but Merlin didn’t seem to care, his long fingers gripping tightly to the soiled material beneath his head and taking a deep breath in. “This isn't fair.”

“No,” Gwaine agreed. “No it’s not.”

Gwaine looked out across the sprawling lands of Camelot, the tear-filled weight of the man he loved against his back. He looked out at the place he lived and had loved and finally belonged and felt a sudden disdain for its tumultuous days. Why couldn’t… he just wanted to be.

When the knight returned to his chambers, many hours into the dark night, it was empty. Mechanically he laid himself down in the cold bed, staring up unseeingly at the canopy above desperately not thinking about where Merlin may be… and who with. 

-**-

Then…

The armoury was always quiet this time of day. The knights had all finished training for the day, the squires had gone home. Only a few torches lit the dimming light of the room. But Gwaine still sat there, sword and stone in hand. 

He found himself with a few hours in his day, without duty and without pleasures – Merlin was serving the King for dinner – so he sat for a while, acquainting himself with the fine delicate nature of his weapon. Gwaine wished he had the time to do this more often, as he slowly rubbed the sharpening stone down the metal, it was quite relaxing.

When the door behind him creaked open Gwaine expected a lost squire or perhaps Leon - the man spent far too long amongst the crossbows - so he was slightly surprised, to say the least, when King Arthur himself settled down on the bench opposite him. 

Gwaine frowned up at the King but Arthur just nodded regally back and cast his eyes around. Finally the blue eyes landed of an oil cloth on the floor and picked it up, taking his own sword form its sheath and began rubbing at its handle.

Gwaine watched carefully. He knew for a fact that the sword needed no cleaning, having watched lazily as Merlin polished its hilt all last night. “I thought Merlin was serving you dinner?”

The king didn’t move, or lift his head, just held the sword in the torch light and rubbed at a new spot. “He did,” Arthur conceded. “He and Guinevere are gossiping now, so I thought I would escape.”

Gwaine nodded and continued with his ministrations. He also knew, for another fact, that Arthur secretly loved to listen in on the Queen and servant’s gossip, thus appearing kingly and omniscient when that gossip broke. 

Slowly the reason for Arthur’s visit dawned on Gwaine and he felt his shoulders tense unconsciously, bracing himself. He had been expecting this talk, but thought – hoped – it would be later. Apparently not. 

“He loved Lancelot,” Arthur said, as if it was a revelation, as if the whole castle didn’t know in one way or another of the close bond the two men shared. But then again, this is Arthur…

“He did,” Gwaine conceded, eyes down on his sword.

“And you love him.”

Gwaine didn’t answer, it felt like a betrayal to Merlin to say it to his King before Merlin heard it himself but something in his face must have given him away because Arthur nodded, eyes fixing back on the sword in his own hands.

“Good,” the King murmured, nodding slightly. “I’m… glad that he has someone. I fear I have not been as good a friend as I could… with Guinevere and the kingdom…”

“He understands Arthur,” Gwaine was quick to interject. “He would never expect-“

“No,” Arthur sighed, lifting his head. Their eyes finally met over their weapons, fond resignation shining in the kings. “He never does, does he?”

It was a simple phrase, simple words but in those words Arthur summed up what Gwaine had always thought of Merlin:

He never does expect anything for himself, he never does take for himself, he never does wish for himself. That is why he needs others, like Lancelot and now Gwaine, to give him the things he never asks for… and occasionally Arthur as well. 

“Well… I should go,” Arthur spoke eventually, rising from his perch and sheathing his sword. “I will try to make sure he leaves at a decent hour tonight if you can ensure he will sleep.”

“I can’t promise sleep princess,” Gwaine grinned, leaning back on his seat. “I am irresistible after all.”

“See at least Lancelot had tact,” Arthur mumbled, throwing the oiled rag in Gwaine’s face. Gwaine chuckled, catching the offending item and smiling at the blush painting the kings face. 

-**-

Now…

There wasn’t much time for Gwaine to dwell on his aching heart. The army were massed and the knights set out at first light, there clattering hooves stampeding through the courtyard and across the bridges of the castle. 

Gwaine didn’t care if people would name him a coward, or weak, but he hung to the back of the procession, busied himself with seeing to his men. And he refused to look up to the front of the group; namely the ever faithful servant and his returned knight. He couldn’t bear to look up and see what he feared, so he kept his head down, his eyes and mind on his garrison as they forged the path ahead. 

Once the sun had reached high into the sky the party halted. Gwaine looked up from his determined stare at his mare’s neck to see the King ahead, his arm raised for pause. Leon swung down from his horse, advancing to where Arthur was pointing. Gwaine jumped from his horse also, walking slowly to see what had been found. 

Leon crouched down beside a tree lining the path. A long arrow embedded in its bark.

“Saxon’s,” Leon breathed, inspecting the tail of the embedded arrow. 

“Morgana has been reported to have taken refuge with them in the north,” Percival spoke quietly to the King.

Arthur looked grimly out into the trees as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the army. “Well it seems they have come a little further south.”

“Scout!” 

The alarmed shout came from the back of the procession, everyone’s eyes pinging round to see a small boy, dressed in Saxon colours darting back into the treeline.

“Catch him!” Arthur shouted, quickly turning his horse and galloping off into the treeline. Percival and Elyan followed close behind the king, along with the pair that Gwaine would not look at. 

Dozens of horses cantered through the rough forest terrain but they had lost the scout soon enough; a small boy could easily outpace a galloping horse through this dense foliage. But still Arthur called for advancement. 

Gwaine could sense and see the mad glimmer in the Kings eyes; the mere mention of Morgana enough to send all rational through from his normally steady mind. But the knights forged on and battled through the undergrowth. 

So they erupted from the treeline, pulling their horses to still just in time. Before them all the grassy slope they had found themselves on sunk down into a large grassy field below. And in that field a mass of Saxon army prepared itself. 

“It seems we have lost the element of surprise,” Leon murmured from his position beside the king. Arthur looked down at the readying arm, a concerned frown between his eyebrows. But Gwaine knew the orders that would come; Arthur would never turn from a fight. 

“Call to the men,” the King commanded, his agitated horse tottering in place. “We advance when ready.”

So now the king stood before his assembled army, all armed and ready, atop a hill staring down on the amassed Saxon army waiting for them below. 

“Where the bloody hell is she?” Arthur mumbled. 

Their numbers stretched out in the grassy field before Camelot’s army, lines and lines of soldiers, armoured and armed, ready for a fight… but no Morgana in sight. 

“She doesn’t seem to be there my Lord,” Leon replied, staring squint eyed over the mass of men below them. 

“God Dammit!” Arthur furious and frustrated shout echoed over the awaiting soldiers. 

“Arthur,” Merlin quickly emerged from the crowds, placing a calming hand on Arthur’s arm. “They are still an enemy army hiding in your own lands. And Morgana isn’t stupid, she doesn’t put on a bright beacon for a cape and fly at the head of the army like some.” Merlin shot Arthur an unimpressed look. “She knows she will be the target of any attack so she’ll hide, wait until her magic can do most harm.”

Arthur stared at Merlin for a moment before he shook his head. “There you go being wise again Merlin.”

“I have many layers sire.”

Gwaine watched as Arthur sent Leon to dispatch the orders and listened with half and ear to his own. Instead his traitorous eyes followed Merlin’s slight retreat to the lines, he watched as Lancelot tugged Merlin’s cloak on straight, his large hands lingering on the servant’s shoulders. If he were a greater man he might have looked away but he wasn’t, he was selfish and greedy and if these were the last moments he had then he wanted to take his fill of Merlin, his strong shoulders, his pale skin, before he was taken to the afterlife. 

There was a small modicum of comfort to be taken in that Merlin didn’t seem to be paying attention to Lancelot, his eyes were cast out far and distant over the battlefield below them all, his blue eyes fixed seemingly on the dense trees surrounding. Then, just for a moment, those eyes turned on him, wide and eager as if he were soaking up the last vestiges of Gwaine before storming down into battle. 

“Alright men!” Arthur called distracting Gwaine from his reverie. “Charge!”

You could map out battle strategies, tactics, plans as much as you wanted on a flat table, a roll of parchment laying across the surface. You could scribble lines and arrows across its expanse and come away safe in the knowledge that you had a plan, a recipe for victory. But when you are on the ground, surrounded by a blood thirsty enemy that wants to see your insides definitively on the outside there is only one thought that runs through you mind, a carnal instinct in all men: stay alive. 

Due to the years of training Gwaine sword moved swiftly through the bodies advancing on him as if it were an extension of his body, not much thought has to go into its movements and its aims, it knew them better than Gwaine knew himself. 

So the knight’s eyes wandered. They fell to Elyan and Percival fighting back to back, they fell to Leon guiding an injured knight back through the throngs of battle; they fell to Arthur fighting seamlessly, a sword in each hand, Saxons falling like flies around him. 

But there was one figure he did not see. Panic seized through his heart and Gwaine stepped blindly forward, his eyes frantically searching the thinning battlefield around. 

His foot hit something hard and cool. His eyes fell then to Sir Gerwaint. His young body lying on the battlefield, broken and empty of life. 

“Oh Gerwaint,” Gwaine sighed, leaning down to close his lost brothers eyes. He remembered the knight so many moons ago, his face full of excitement and promise, only to be cut short on this small battlefield. 

But he knew his grief couldn’t last long, and soon enough an enemy sword came down towards his head. Gwaine dodged back just in time, felling the enemy with a swipe of his own. As he leaned down, placing a harsh boot on the Saxons chest to draw his bloodied weapon out of the man’s chest, he saw a flash of blue and immediately Gwaine’s eyes flew up. 

Merlin stood centre battle, Arthur nowhere to be seen, but the servants eyes weren’t on the eagle eyed Saxon heading towards, him, eyeing him like a tasty meal. It was ahead over the battlefield to the line where the trees met the grass. 

“Merlin!” The frantic call escaped Gwaine’s lips without thought as he watched the Saxon approach the weapon- less man. Gwaine started hurtling through the crowds, felling soldiers left and right in a battle all of his own; to get to Merlin. 

Gwaine watched as Merlin’s eyes came back to the front and watched as they widened in surprise and panic, his hands fumbling at his belt for a weapon that wasn’t there. Gwaine had no idea where Merlin’s short sword had gone, the one he had watched Arthur, and Lancelot, badger him about that morning, but his belt and hands were empty. 

Gwaine took no thought in his next actions. “Merlin!” he hollered again into the air. The man turned and his eyes widened further at the sight of Gwaine’s own sword leaving the knight’s hand and hurtling through the air. 

Merlin whipped around, his cloak spinning behind him and his hand seamlessly connected with the sword soaring through the sky before him, the momentum pulling his turn around and slicing into the Saxon about to chop at his head. 

Gwaine turned back just in time to see the axe coming for his own head, too close for him to do much more than blink at the inevitable. 

Then the Saxon grimaced and fell, his sharp metal weapon falling listlessly to his side as he crumbled to the earth. 

Gwaine looked up and blinked only to see Lancelot smiling down at him, his sword gleaming in the sunlight. “Watch what you are doing next time Gwaine,” the knight quipped, turning quickly to cut down another advancing guard. 

Spinning quickly Gwaine turned back to the point where Merlin had been, only to see no one there.

“Where did he go?” he cried frantically above the din on the battle. 

Lancelot eased his sword from a fallen Saxons chest and took a look around himself, a concerned frown growing between his eyebrows. 

“I don’t know…”

Anger boiled in Gwaine’s gut. He had stepped back, graciously letting Merlin go under the pretence that Lancelot would look after him, would protect him. If the idiot knight went and let Merlin wander off into a battlefield unattended he didn’t deserve-

His furious mental dispute was interrupted abruptly when the earth beneath his feet shook violently. Instinctively Gwaine bent his knees, absorbing the tremors below, waiting for their cessation, but they didn’t stop, they increased, harsher and harsher ripples in the earth shaking both armies. 

It increased, Gwaine falling to one knee on the floor as they grew harsher and then… they stopped. 

The Saxons’ stared around in shock, confused and leaderless, their eyes wide and fearful. Camelot knight’s had no such luxury. As soon as the ground stood still there was a moment of silence across the battlefield before King Arthur’s furious call sounded across his men. 

“Men! Regroup!”

After that the Saxons didn’t last long. When the last stragglers were either fleeing into the trees or surrendering themselves to King Arthur’s victorious army Gwaine let his shoulders drop and took in a deep panting breath. They had finished, they had won. 

But all was not done. Gwaine twisted his head from one side to the other, his hair flying freely across his face but he paid it no mind. He had not seen Merlin since mid-battle, just as that Saxon had been about to chop off his little head. 

Arthur may have written the magical earthquake as Morgan’s’ ploy to throw Camelot off balance, but Gwaine had a rather large inclining feeling that it was Merlin… all Merlin. 

“Where is he?”

Gwaine turned at the voice to see Lancelot standing there, one streak of blood across his fair face, his eyes wide with the closest to panic that Lancelot would show. Gwaine swallowed at the sight of him, a warrior, tall and strong, no wonder Merlin had picked him.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, casting his eyes back across the churned field. “He just disappeared, he was right there.”

Lancelot followed Gwaine outstretched hands with his eyes to see nothing but felled bodies. Gwaine saw Lancelot’s throat dip thickly and scan the area quickly and efficiently with his eyes. Gwaine knew what he was looking for, because Gwaine had done exactly the same thing just a moment ago, but there had been no glimpse of a pale, broken body amongst the turf. 

“Well,” Lancelot spoke, his voice not completely steady. “We should find him.”

Gwaine watched Lancelot’s retreating back as the knight headed out across the battleground, away from Arthur and the rest of the knights. “We?”

Lancelot looked over his shoulder, his steps not pausing in their decisive march. “Do you want to find him or not?”

Gwaine’s feet moved before he had told them too, his body knowing where he wanted to go – to Merlin. His mind watched the back of Lancelot’s head something akin to begrudging respect blossoming there. 

-**-

Then…

The sun beat down on both Gwaine and Merlin’s faces as they lounged on a rough boulder, the green grass fields spread out before them. 

Silently Gwaine accepted the roll Merlin threw to him. Then reached into the pack for the water skin which was empty, Merlin gave it an annoyed smile, which cleared quickly. Throwing Gwaine a cheeky grin Gwaine then watched as Merlin’s eyes flared gold and the water skin filled before their eyes. 

Gwaine couldn’t help his bark of laughter as Merlin took a large gulp, an exaggerated sigh at the end of it. 

“Did you just create water?”

“No,” Merlin snorted, leaning down to Gwaine’s lounge on the grass to hand him the skin. “You can’t create water. It’s like you can’t create life. I just summoned it from the river we passed on the way here.”

The servant then picked up his own roll, his blue eyes set out over the hills around them, as if he hadn’t just talked frankly about summoning water from miles away. 

“Do you ever use it too much?”

Merlin looked down on Gwaine, a thoughtful frown between his brows. “You mean get tired?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Merlin mused. “More the opposite really.”

It wasn’t often that Merlin talked about his magic, it wasn’t often that they ever had the opportunity to just sit, the two of them outside the palace walls. Merlin’s lounge on the rock was relaxed, languorous, unperturbed like it never was even on the most creative nights behind Gwaine’s door. Gwaine sat up in the grass, taking the opportunity whilst he had it. “How do you mean?”

“If I use it too much…It’s like chipping a crack in a dam. I let it out and then there’s this,” Merlin’s hand clenched before his chest, “pressure in me, just wanting release. It takes more energy to contain it than it does to use it.”

Gwaine tried to process that for a moment and shook his head when he could not get his mind around the magnitude of power they were discussing, the power that seemed naturally inherent in Merlin’s little form. 

Gwaine looked down at the long pale arms, the lithe legs with a higher air of appreciation. He hadn’t thought that was possible. 

“What?” Merlin mumbled, roughly tearing a chunk from his bread with his teeth.

And then the great warlock, the powerful sorcerer of the land, fell off the back of the log. Gwaine’s head fell back and he howled in laughter, not even stopping when a scowling Merlin popped back up from the ground and tackled him. 

-**-

Now…

The tree’s surrounding the battlefield were as thick and tumultuous as the brambles Camelot’s army had fought through to arrive there. The thorny hooks on the branches snagged at Gwaine cloak, his hair, scratched at his face. But Gwaine paid it no mind. He kept his eyes open wide, his ears alert, trying to sense any presence of Merlin that he could. 

After what felt like a life time later, probably more akin to a few minutes of Gwaine’s heart jack knifing in his chest Lancelot pulled up to stop, his head straightening up like a bird detecting prey. 

“Did you hear that?” the knight asked. Gwaine frowned and looked in the direction that Lancelot’s eyes were fixed. And then he heard it – a small shuffling, breathing and something that sounded like a whimper. 

Gwaine was moving before he knew it, pushing harshly through the trees and branches around them. The first thing he saw in the small nook in the trees was a body, sprawled inelegantly across the broken twigs and leaves of the forest floor, none of its usual grace or poise. The eyes stared open and lifeless out of a pale face, a small tendril of blood seeping from pale lax lips. 

Lady Morgana lay dormant and dead amongst the decaying forest floor. 

“Merlin!” Lancelot’s worried whisper startled Gwaine from his stare at the fallen witch and a few feet over. The knight fell to the floor beside the curled creature on the ground, his large hand cupping gently to the bodies shivering shoulder.

Merlin lay too on the floor, a contrast to Morgana’s lifeless unmoving body, Merlin was curled tight, his knees up to his chest, his arms tucked in and his whole being was shaking with violent tremors similar to that which had plagued the earth a few moments ago.   
Gwaine quickly found himself crouched down on Merlin’s other side, not stopping himself from laying a hand on the warlocks back. He almost hissed at the fever heat he felt soaking through Merlin’s thin coverings. 

“He’s used too much,” Lancelot murmured, almost to himself. “His magic it’s like-“

“A dam”

Lancelot sent Gwaine a brief smile over Merlin’s curled up body. “I see he used that metaphor with you as well.”

They looked at each other for a moment, a shared nugget of history and knowledge floating between them. Gwaine quickly napped his gaze away and back to Merlin. He didn’t want to talk about him and Merlin, did not want to share their secrets with Lancelot, the man due to take it all away.

“We have to get him back to the castle,” Lancelot announced after a brief examination of Merlin’s shivering form. The knight carefully placed and hand against Merlin’s rounded back, tipping him gently to lay on his back. 

As soon as Merlin’s face came into view Gwaine gasped. 

The man’s eyes sat half open, his lips moving with the incoherent whispers but his eyes… once so blue and deep no shone, brighter than the sun, gold streaming from the iris’s. 

Lancelot seemed to pay it no mind, carefully hooking an arm under the warlocks shoulder’s and levering him to sitting. 

“Lancelot,” Gwaine whispered, not being able to take his look away from the awe inspiring sight. “His eyes…”

Lancelot looked up then to Merlin’s face, his brow creasing slightly as he saw Gwaine’s concern. But then the knight’s face cleared, and his shoulder’s straightened. “We’ll just have to be discrete.” Lancelot wiggled his arm further under Merlin’s incorporative body and looked up at the hovering knight. “Come on Gwaine help me with him.”

 

-**-

Then…

Gwaine wasn’t sure what woke him, the pounding of rain against the castle walls and his windows or the cold empty dent in the bed beside him. Sitting up, rubbing his eyes blearily, Gwaine looked around his room. The night still darkened the space, the clouds masking the full moon outside but a flash of lightening illuminated the space showing the empty chairs, the empty desk and the abandoned pile of books that had been slowly making its way from Gaius’s rooms to Gwaine’s own. 

It didn’t take long to find the wandering servant. Gwaine didn’t know whether it was Merlin’s magic or just his knowledge of the odd man, but he followed his senses to the royal balcony. Sure enough, the normally locked door stood open, rain splattering into the walkway. 

Gwaine peered out into the dark night and there he was: the Kings servant, the man Gwaine loved, his head bent back facing up to the flashing sky, his sleep tunic and breeches soaked through with rain. The idiot wasn’t even wearing any shoes. 

“Merlin!” Gwaine called over the din of the storm. “Merlin, what are you doing?”

The man turned then grinning over his shoulder. His eyes alighted when he stopped Gwaine hovering uncertainly in the doorway. “It’s raining!” he announced. 

“I can see that.” Gwaine peered out over the edge of the balcony seeing rivers and lakes manifesting in the stones below. “Can we go back inside now?”

“Oh come on Gwaine!” Merlin chuckled, shaking his sopping hair. “Come out here!”

“My hair…” Gwaine argued weakly as Merlin grabbed his hand and dragged him out into the night air and the shocking splatter of rain on his head. After just a few moments Gwaine could feel the rain soaked through his tunic and undergarments, even the boots he had been sensible enough to put on. 

“Right,” he muttered when he was quite sure he looked like a drowned dog. “I’ve seen the rain. Can we go back to bed now?”

But Merlin wasn’t listening, his eyes closed in seeming ecstasy as the torrents of rain splattered down on his face. “First rain of the season,” he muttered. 

“What?” Against Gwaine wishes his body moved forward, further into the rain and closer into Merlin’s heated body, still bed warm despite the weather. 

“It’s the first rain of the season,” Merlin grinned. He opened his eyes looking to Gwaine. Gwaine thought there was something about Merlin out there in the rain, something powerful and otherworldly and there it was, his eyes flickering gold behind his blue irises. Instinctively Gwaine looked around, but there was no one present, no one stupid enough to be caught out in this storm than Merlin… and apparently Gwaine. 

“It’s released the dam,” Merlin murmured leaning into Gwaine’s chest. “Can’t you feel it, the power of it?”

Gwaine couldn’t, what he could feel was Merlin’s warm, hard body leaning all down his front, he could feel the servants breathe blow across his chilled face and he could feel his own blood pumping through his veins. 

“It’s…” Merlin sighed, “…cleansing.”

“So is a bath,” Gwaine mocked paying no mind to the rain now. His hands came up, cradling at Merlin’s slim waist .”Warmer too.”

“Alright alright,” Merlin chuckled. “I get the hint. Let’s get you inside and dry.”

Merlin went to pull away then, to go back inside. And though the warm and dry called to Gwaine he gripped tighter to Merlin’s waist stilling his movements. “Wait,” he murmured, pulling Merlin back into his chest. 

“I thought you were cold?” Merlin quirked an eyebrow up at Gwaine but tucked his sopping wet body back into Gwaine’s embrace. 

“There are worse things,” Gwaine murmured and he brought his lips to Merlin’s. They were wet with rain, and cold but still full and luscious as always. They lost themselves for a moment, the storm still raging on around them. When they pulled back Merlin opened his eyes and grinned at Gwaine, the gold gone now from his eyes. 

-**-

Now…

It wasn’t easy dragging a half conscious Merlin’s through the forest in the darkening light. Though the path had been fully compacted by Arthur’s army they tripped and tumbled their way back to the castle. It didn’t help that Gwaine had to look at Merlin’s lolling face every few moments to convince himself that Merlin was fine, that it was just over use of Magic that was raging a fever through his limp frame and sending shivers down each appendage.

When they reached the main path up to the castle gates Merlin’s body tugged to the right making Gwaine stumble. He looked over Merlin’s shoulders to see Lancelot steering them off the path, down the incline. 

“This way,” Lancelot whispered. “There is a back way into the dungeons.”

Gwaine swallowed down the bitterness that came with knowing that it was likely Merlin that told the goody knight this and followed, shuffling sideways with Lancelot and Merlin down the grassy hill. 

They journeyed in silence until Gwaine saw the opening in the castle wall, a metal grating across its front. Wordlessly Lancelot eased Merlin’s weight into Gwaine’s arms. Gwaine took it willing, holding to the man tightly. His skin felt hot, fever hot and clammy and worry pierced through Gwaine once more. 

Lancelot carefully tugged at the metal grate Gwaine had one moment to scoff internally at the knight, not even Percival would be able to break the metal from the stone holdings, when the grate slipped easily out of its brackets. 

Lancelot propped the grate against the grass and hurried back over, prising Merlin’s body from where it had instinctively clung to Gwaine and throwing the arm back over his shoulders. 

Seeming to feel Gwaine’s incredulous stare at the side of his head Lancelot turned to Gwaine as they entered the dark tunnel and shrugged. “Merlin blew it off once,” he said, as if that explained everything…. But Gwaine had to admit as he hoisted Merlin’s arms further round his shoulders, it kind of did. 

The tunnel didn’t go very far before Gwaine started to recognise the back end of the dungeons, the cells that were hardly ever used these days. 

“In here,” Lancelot huffed steering them all into a large cell at the end of the row. 

“A cell?” Gwaine asked incredulously. Merlin needed to be in a bed, with pillows and a fire and-

“He needs the dark, and it’s cool… and out of the way.”

Carefully they levered Merlin’s shaking form down onto the, thankfully, clean hay, his top half propped sitting against the cold cell wall. 

The man’s lips were still moving, mumbled words tipping from them, seemingly unintelligible but both knights leaned forward closer to the whispered words. 

“It’s too much,” Merlin gasped. His eyelids flickered, the gold shining still out from them. “Too much, I need, I need…”

“I Know Merlin,” Lancelot whispered to the servant. “I know hold on.”

Lancelot backed away then, out of Gwaine’s eyesight. Gwaine could say nothing; he had no idea how to help Merlin. He was shaking and his was face scrunched in pain. Gwaine raised a shaky hand and rested it on Merlin’s fiery brow. Merlin sighed and leant into the brief touch. 

He just felt so helpless, Merlin needed help and he had no idea how to give it. He looked up to the corner of the cell to beg, plead, Lancelot for a cure. Lancelot was tugging frantically at his armour padding, the chain mail already on the floor in a heap.

Feeling Gwaine’s confused stare Lancelot looked up. “Let him feel you,” he said. 

“What?”

“Let him feel your skin, it will calm him down.”

Immediately Gwaine mirrored Lancelot’s frantic movements and removed his chainmail, tugging it relentlessly until he was free from it and discarded his under shirt, he dropped them to the ground it was unimportant, and watched Lancelot carefully approach Merlin’s quivering form. 

“Merlin,” the knight whispered, placing a gentle hand on the warlock’s neck. “Merlin can you hear me? It’s Lancelot.”

“Lance-“ Merlin’s head turned blindly towards the sound of Lancelot’s words, his eyes still glowing gold in the dank chamber. 

“Yes, it’s me,” Lancelot whispered, sounding relieved. Gwaine didn’t know what there was to be relieved about; Merlin was still half conscious and magic seemed to be lancing from each eye with no abate. “You’re alright,” the knight continued lowering himself to press his bare chest fully against Merlin’s side. “Everyone’s alright.”

Back amongst the shadows Gwaine watched with a throbbing heart as the man he loved turned into another man’s arms, resting his cheek against Lancelot’s bare chest. He watched Lancelot’s tender face and the loving touch he brushed down Merlin’s cheek. He watched as his life, his love fell away from him as he stood in the corner, half naked and alone. 

Tears burned behind his eyes as Lancelot pressed a gentle kiss to Merlin’s temple and ran a hand under Merlin’s thin and seat damp tunic. He knew this would happen, he knew that Merlin had loved Lancelot and that love was torn from him and he knew that Merlin loved the man still, even after his passing. But it didn’t abate the pain in his heart or the unmistakable glisten to his eyes now. 

Gwaine turned to leave; he just couldn’t stand and watch this. 

“Gwaine?” 

The hushed pleading whisper from the cell turned Gwaine in his tracks. Merlin’s eyes were still half lidded and incoherent but his hand clawed and clenched against Lancelot’s chest, as if trying to gain grip on the muscled pecks. 

“Gwaine is right here,” Lancelot reassured. “We are both right here.”

Lancelot looked up and over to Gwaine, across the ever present bridge of Merlin between them. But it wasn’t Lancelot’s pleading eyes that made him move. It was Merlin… always Merlin… when the warlock turned to his other side, the unprotected and uncovered side, his head trashing slightly against the hard stone of the cell walls, turning to that empty spot as if searching for something.

Taking his cue Gwaine moved forward swiftly, slotting himself on Merlin’s opposite side and followed Lancelot’s lead, letting the roughened skin of his chest push up against the warlocks arm. “I’m here Merlin,” he mumbled into the man’s over heated skin.

Gwaine wasn’t sure if it was just his wishful thinking but he felt Merlin’s body relax into his, his head turning and resting down onto Gwaine’s shoulder, his cheekbones slotting down easily into the divot of Gwaine’s collar bone. 

Gwaine allowed this, let Merlin’s abonormal warmth seep into his bones. If this would be the last time that he ever felt the mans touch he would take it, take all he could get before the end. Gwaine closed his eyes and breathed in, the scent of Merlin; swet, blood and the bitter smell of his magic. 

It reminded of those oh so precious times when it was just the two of them, on a hare-brained quest or adventure through the forest, where Merlin would smile and laugh with ease, no burden or responsibility marring his beautiful face. 

So lost in his memories was Gwaine that at the shuffling of merlin’s being against him startled the knight from his reverie. His eyes snapped open to see Lancelot - of course Lancelot - disturbing his peace. The knight was tugging at Merlin’s tunic, stained with blood and tears, exposing more and more of Merlin’s skin.

“What are you doing?” Gwaine snapped, the aged feeling of possessiveness and protectiveness coming out in his voice. 

Lancelot didn’t stop his ministrations but glanced at Gwaine briefly. “He is still too warm. The skin to skin contact will help him, ground his magic.”

The logic seemed sound but Gwaine still watched warily as Lancelot got fed up of fighting with Merlin’s uncooperative limbs and tore the man’s tunic, from neck to trim. 

A small abortive sound escaped Merlin’s lips and Lancelot immediately shushed the man, his soothing tone drifting like a breeze on the air. 

“It’s alright Merlin,” Lancelot whispered, tucking himself back into the servants side. “You will feel better soon, this is better yes?”

“Mmm,” Merlin mumbled, his head swivelling unseeing towards Lancelot’s side. Gwaine tried hard not to feel the sting of rejection in the view of Merlin’s raven hair. Instead he dropped his head, unable to see the back of Merlin’s head turned form him and peppered gentle kisses along Merlin’s exposed bony shoulder. 

“You’re really back?” the servant whispered, his voice harsh and raspy like it would be the morning after the tavern, just the two of them in bed. Gwaine shut down that thought and focused on the skin before him, not wanting to appear eavesdropping on the reunited lovers. 

“I am,” Lancelot said reverently. “I am back.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but I am here. Here with you.”

“I’m glad,” Merlin whispered, his voice dropping back off in exhaustion. “I missed you.”

“And I you.”

Gwaine closed his eyes against the tears prickling at their surfaces. But not now, he willed to himself, he would do this for Merlin, ground his magic, allow the man to centre himself, then he would back away, like a wounded dog, to lick his wounds in solace. 

“And Gwaine?”

Gwaine swallowed at the sound of his name, called in Merlin’s hopeful lost voice, the one that spoke to him after nights of tossing and turning and mumbling in Merlin’s sleep. 

“Here,” Gwaine rasped, forcing a grin on his face. He let his head drift up to see Merlin’s glassy eyes staring unfocused in his direction. “As always.”

Merlin’s smile was shaky and exhausted but undeniably gorgeous as always, sending renewed echoes of heartache through Gwaine’s chest. “Both of you,” the servant whispered, his head drooping. 

Gwaine opened his mouth, wanting to say something calming and profound like Lancelot could, wanting to calm Merlin with his words but finding none.

But Lancelot, as expected, had the words. “Shh Merlin,” the knight whispered, brushing the man’s matted hair away from his forhead. “Just rest now, we are here.”

Merlin’s lips twitched into a small smile and let his head fall limply to the wall of the dungeon and then watched on helpleslsly as the limp neck drooped, slowly dropping its head to rest on Lancelots bare shoulder. 

When Merlin’s breaths had disintegrated into snores and his skin cooled and the nights chill started eking into the dungeon pimpling both knight’s naked chests Lancelot silently began collecting Merlin’s limbs in to his body. With a silent nod he beckoned Gwaine to assist him.

Merlin’s weight was heavy and limp beneath Gwaine hands and made his stomach squirm but he focused on Merlin’s healthy flushed cheeks and his heavy, relaxed breathing and help Lancelot with their struggle.

It probably looked very odd; one bare chested and unconscious man being dragged through the castle by two equally bare chested men, but luckily there were no souls to be found on the quiet trek up from the dungeons.

The trio paused at the base of the steps; Gwaine glanced around the corner to see the guards sitting at the dungeon steps far too engrossed in their dice game to pay any attention to the security of Camelot. Gwaine huffed and rolled his eyes sharing a disbelieving look with Lancelot, momentarily forgetting his vendetta against the knight – but really it was just too easy with Lancelot, there wasn’t much you could hate. 

Lancelot once again led their way through the castle corridors, down to an unknown hallway that Gwaine had never used. 

The knight shouldered open the door to reveal a small room, bare apart from the large simple bed at its centre. 

“This was my room,” Lancelot explained as they dragged a snoring Merlin towards the soft surface. 

Gwaine glanced again around the room. It had an air of abandon about it, the curtains and drapes around the thin windows replaced with old rugs and tapestries to stop any light from entering. When the door to the chamber shut behind them the room was plunged into darkness. Lancelot pulled them onwards the last few steps until Gwaine’s knees hit the hard edge of the bed frame. With a sigh Lancelot dropped to the bed, pulling Merlin down with him.

Merlin’s hand clutched still urgently to Gwaine’s arm, pulling him down with the pair.

It wasn’t until he felt the sumptuous mattress and blankets beneath his fingers that Gwaine realised how tired he was. The battle, his lack of sleep the night before and the worry clenching his gut for the past few hours, all left him suddenly weary and exhausted. 

He never claimed to be a strong man, so when Merlin’s sleeping form tugged gently on his arm again Gwaine allowed himself to be pulled down to curl gently around Merlin’s form. 

When Gwaine next opened his eyes Merlin’s breaths had softened, his sleeping breaths now drifting over Gwaine’s chin where his heavy head rested on Gwaine’s shoulder. He couldn’t help his heart softening at the warlocks open mouth slumber, completely out of touch with the world in his uninterrupted sleep. 

And if he lay still Gwaine could pretend it were any other morning, but then Merlin’s body shifted and a hand curled around the boys small waist, tightening in its possessive grip. The arm didn’t belong to Gwaine and bile and sourness curled in Gwaine’s stomach. He didn’t belong here. 

As carefully as possible, so as not to wake Merlin, Gwaine slipped form the bed, silently picking up his discarded boots just off the edge of the bed. 

“Gwaine?”

Like a mirror of the night before Gwaine turned at the voice calling his name, this time sounding groggy and roughened by sleep. A small fond smile slipped onto the knight’s lips at the sight of Merlin pushing himself up to sitting, blearily rubbing at his eyes, his hair standing on its end, ruffled from sleep. 

Slowly the dazed sleep look faded from the Warlock’s face, his blue eyes flicking to Gwaine’s clothed legs and his boots in hand. 

“Where are you going?” Merlin shot Gwaine an accusatory glare, flecked with hurt. Wincing at the sharp tone Gwaine flicked his eyes over to Merlin’s other side where Lancelot still lay curled in sleep around Merlin’s form. 

Merlin followed his eyesight then back up to Gwaine helplessly. 

“I have to go Merlin, you know I do…”

Merlin shook his head sitting up straighter in their bed. “I’ve lost so many people Gwaine, I can’t… I won’t lose you too.”

“I’m not going anywhere Merlin,” Gwaine sighed. 

“Yes you were - just then!”

“Merlin...” Gwaine glanced over at Lancelot again, making sure the knight stayed in his slumber. “Lancelot’s back. I know what this means-“

“And what’s that then?” Merlin glared, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“You loved him,” Gwaine stated blandly. “I was there when he died, I remember how distraught you were.”

“And I love you too.”

A little fond chuckle escaped Gwaine’s lips, he might have outright laughed if it weren’t for the pain coursing through his heart. “Merlin,” he huffed, smiling at the ruffled servant. “You can’t have both.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t work that way.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Alright,” Gwaine murmured, running a hand through his long hair, still matted with blood and greasy from the day before. “Now you are being purposefully obtuse.”

Gwaine turned, just to collect his thoughts, take a breath and finish his goodbyes but Merlin slipped from the bed, quick as a flash and gripped tightly onto Gwaine’s shoulder. The man swayed slightly on his feet, still exhausted from their activities the day before and Gwaine instinctively gripped at his elbows, steading Merlin’s body as they stood together. 

Bright blue eyes stared back at Gwaine, pleading and wide. “I never had anyone to love,” Merlin stated. “And now I have two of you…. I don’t want to give that up. Is that selfish?”

“No,” Gwaine murmured brushing a thumb against Merlin’s high cheek now thankfully flushed with sleep and health. “No sweetheart, you are the least selfish person I know.”

Merlin’s lips titled up at the edges, chasing the touch of Gwaine’s thumb. Gwaine had the unintelligible want to kiss him then, the brush their lips gently together. But he couldn’t… Merlin wasn’t his anymore. Lancelot had come first and Gwaine knew that and-

“What are you all doing out of bed?”

Guiltily, Gwaine jumped back realising Merlin’s arms to see Lancelot now pushing himself up slowly from the pillows, his hair in a similar state of disarray to Merlin’s. 

Merlin had moved back from Gwaine’s steady embrace and crossed his arms again, the fine hair on his forearms brushing against the sprinkling of hair on his chest. “Gwaine was leaving.”

Lancelot looked back and forth from Merlin to Gwaine, an early morning confused frown marring his usually smooth brow. “Why?”

Merlin huffed and rolled his eyes. “Because he’s an idiot.”

Lancelot let his elbows go, letting his body fall back into the soft mattress. “Please, sort him and then get back into this bed. It’s too early.”

“See,” Merlin crowed in triumph. “Even Lancelot thinks we should still be in bed.” Gwaine looked back at the bed, where Lancelot had turned showing his bare back to the pair, and then to Merlin, his eyes wide a hopefully and so blue…

Merlin’s hand angled with Gwaine’s own, pulling it from the protective clutch it had on Gwaine’s own tunic. They stood chest to chest, breath to breath and any resolve Gwaine had of leaving was crumbling rapidly around his ankles. 

“I am not letting you go, do you understand?” Merlin murmured quietly. 

Wordlessly Gwaine let Merlin lead him across the room, dropping his boots somewhere along the way, let Merlin pull him back onto the bed, let Merlin curl into his chest like always. As soon as they were settled Lancelot’s body moved, curling back up and around Merlin’s back, cocooning him in place. 

Gwaine’s tense body quickly relaxed, lulled into rest by Lancelot and Merlin’s combined breaths and slowly he fell asleep, Merlin in his arms. 

 

-**-

Now and evermore….

“Thank you,” Lancelot whispered over Merlin’s sleeping form later that day. The sun had risen, its rays penetrating through the rugs and tapestry’s thrown carelessly over the windows to block any light, casting a red glow on the room. 

Gwaine dragged his eyes away from the study of Merlin’s closed eyelashes and peered up at Lancelot’s face leaning over their sleeping love. “What for?”

“For looking after him when I could not,” Lancelot murmured quietly in the most earnest of fashions that only Lancelot could pull off. “I am glad he had you.”

Gwaine swallowed. It was hard to hate Lancelot for taking Merlin from him when he said things like that. “And now he has you.”

“Now he has both of us.” Lancelot lifted his hand from Merlin’s bare hip and placed it carefully, slowly to cover Gwaine’s where it lay languidly over Merlin’s tight waist. 

Gwaine blinked and watched the appendage that was now covering his as he covered Merlin. And blinked again. 

“Come on,” Lancelot spoke lowly. “You know what he’s like, how stubborn he is. This is what he wants. Can we at least try?”

Gwaine thought of having to share Merlin would be intolerable, but, really… isn’t that what he has always had to do? Share Merlin with Arthur, with Gwen, with magic, with Camelot?

Gwaine looked back down at Merlin’s sleeping face, for once all semblance of loss, pain, burden, erased from the fey features and he slept soundly and quietly, no nightmares marring his sleep. 

And silently he over turned his hand, threading his fingers wordlessly with Lancelot’s and closed his eyes, slipping to join Merlin in peaceful, unmarred sleep.

THE END


End file.
